Orange, blue, hawthorn and hazel
I’ve been wondering if I can stop saying just , “tree” sometimes, since
I was so pleased when I read that the wizard was sitting under an alder
Regaining his strength
Giving me a powerful smile
I know
pulling the heel of my hand around the smoothness of birch is so different from pressing my fingers into oakbark fissures
Covered partly in wet moss
I know
Beech has soft reaching curves like good questions
while sycamore’s angles are sharp
Filling the clouded skylight with purpose
Cascade, claw, scots pine and ash
Crossing over wires and each other
A practice in many-voicedness